


Alternative Methods of Pain Relief

by dreamsofspike



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House is in a lot of pain after a long, difficult day. Cuddy finds him on the verge of a very bad decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Methods of Pain Relief

It’d been a literal _hell_ of a day.

It’d started with a harsher than usual lecture from Cuddy about the lawsuit the hospital was now facing from House’s last patient, a woman whose life had been saved by House’s efforts – but whose marriage had been destroyed. House had revealed to her husband that she was having an affair, and now she was suing the hospital for psychological harm.

Cuddy was not pleased, to say the least.

When he’d finally managed to escape her office – with twenty more clinic hours for the week than he’d had scheduled – House had started working on his next case. He and his team had wrestled with the diagnosis all day, racing against time, trying various tests and treatments and treatments-as-tests until finally, they found the answer – an hour too late to save their patient’s life.

It was eight o’clock, and his work was done for the day – and all House could think about was Vicodin.

He’d been clean for so long by now that it would be easy enough to get some. The girl working in the pharmacy was relatively new, and would likely buy whatever story he offered as explanation. Sure, Cuddy would find out about it later, and she’d tell Wilson, and before he knew it he’d either be back in rehab, or back on the psych ward, with every shred of dignity and credibility he’d worked so hard to earn back gone with a single bad decision.

At the moment, none of that seemed to matter.

All he could think about was the pain.

_It’s psychosomatic_, he told himself. _Just because of the stress… my leg doesn’t hurt because it_ really _hurts; it hurts because of this day from hell I’ve been having. It hurts because I tried everything I could today, and I _still_ lost my patient. I don’t need the pills. All I need is a good night’s rest, and it’ll be easier in the morning…_

No matter how hard he tried, House couldn’t convince himself of any of it – couldn’t _think_ past the searing agony that consumed his mind.

He barely noticed as the door to his office quietly opened and closed – only realized that he was not alone when someone drew the blinds, casting the room into shadow, the only light what little filtered through the cracks between them. He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears of pain, ashamed and resentful when he saw Cuddy standing in front of his desk, a look of sorrowful sympathy in her eyes.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he snapped. “It’s not even nine yet. It’s not like you have a personal life or anything.”

His harsh words didn’t bring any reaction. She just cautiously approached him, coming around the desk to get a better look at his condition. He was sitting in his chair, the bottom drawer of his desk pulled open and his leg stretched out across it, the palms of both hands pressed against his thigh in a vain attempt to ease the pain.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she murmured, crouching down in front of him. “Worse than usual?”

“No, what are you talking about?” he snapped, his voice scathing, dripping with sarcasm. “Usual is me holed up in my office holding my freakin’ leg like it’s about to fall off!” He tensed, wary as she slid onto her knees in front of him, reaching out a cautious, gentle hand toward his aching thigh. “What are you doing?”

“Let me see.” She firmly moved one of his hands away, then frowned, momentarily looking at his hand instead of his leg. “You’re shaking.”

“Don’t touch it,” House warned her, alarm in his voice. “Just… leave it, I’m _fine_…”

“No, you’re not,” she murmured. “Just relax, House, I’m not gonna hurt you.” She gave him an exasperated little half-smile as she reminded him, “Lest you forget, I _am_ actually a _doctor_, too, you know.”

She ran her hand lightly down House’s leg, starting just under his scar, and running her fingertips slowly down to his knee, then back up again. Then, she repeated the motion, pressing almost imperceptibly deeper the second time.

“What are you doing?” House demanded, suspicious – but if nothing else, the soft sensation was a slight distraction from the pain, so he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop her. “That’s not going to help.”

Cuddy didn’t answer for a moment, looking studiously down at House’s leg as her second hand joined the first, pressing firmly into the aching muscles surrounding his scar. As she continued her gentle ministrations, however, she finally responded in a soft, soothing tone.

“Massage is known to be very helpful in dealing with muscle pain…”

“This isn’t… normal… muscle pain…” House groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, belying his protest. “Doesn’t… work the same… way…”

“Maybe not,” Cuddy conceded, her motions ceasing momentarily, and she waited until House looked down at her questioningly to continue. “But it _does work_.”

House opened his mouth to deny it, but couldn’t, as she resumed her slow, rhythmic motions, mesmerizing him as the pleasure of the massage gradually began to outweigh the pain. They didn’t speak much for the next twenty minutes, as Cuddy focused all of her efforts on relieving House’s pain, and he focused all of his thoughts on what he was feeling.

By the time she was finished, House was more relaxed than he’d been all day, and had all but forgotten his half-formed plans to get his hands on some Vicodin. He looked up, hazy and blissfully sleepy, when at last she stopped and rose carefully to her feet. He watched as she headed toward the door without a word, momentarily speechless. Just before she opened the door, House managed to find his voice.

“Cuddy…”

She paused, her hand on the door, turning toward him with a questioning smile.

“What… I mean… why did you…? You didn’t have to…”

“Good night, House,” she cut him off, her tone firm but gentle as she opened the door. “And… you’re welcome.”

And without another word, she slipped out into the hallway, leaving House to his own thoughts.


End file.
